


at the intersection of then and now

by Doranwen



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 18:54:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doranwen/pseuds/Doranwen
Summary: "Do you realize," he says as he turns to face them, "that we've returned to our world in 2019 instead of 1940?"





	at the intersection of then and now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MathIsMagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathIsMagic/gifts).

They tumble out of the wardrobe into an unfamiliar room. The furnishings are all grand pieces, elegant and finely crafted, just as the wardrobe is. But their eyes are drawn to each other, to bodies still flush with youth, from Lucy's cheeks with a hint of baby fat to Peter's smooth chin. "What happened?" asks Susan, finding her voice first.

Edmund's eyes fix on a calendar hanging on the wall. He rises and draws close. "This cannot be…" he says under his breath. He reads it carefully again, eyes widening. "Do you realize," he says as he turns to face them, "that we've returned to our world in 2019 instead of 1940?"

Lucy stares down at her dress, holding her hands out as if inspecting them. "That isn't our biggest problem." The others look at her, puzzled. "It's that we returned as _children_," she continues. "Do you remember what it was like to be a child? How few choices we had?"

They exchange horrified glances. Silence reigns for a few seconds until the sound of footsteps approaching startles them. They scramble to their feet but only manage to turn towards the door before it opens, and a woman strides in, giving a startled cry at the sight of the four children standing there. "How did you get in here?" she asks after a moment. "Don't you know you're trespassing?"

Peter tries to ignore her strange clothing; the shirt she's wearing seems so immodest. "We're very sorry, ma'am," he begins, but she doesn't let them continue, sternly ordering them all to follow her. Lucy and Susan clasp hands nervously as they obey.

* * *

"So it's Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy, is it?" asks a woman as she approaches the children sitting in chairs along the wall.

"Yes, ma'am," Peter answers for them. He can sense the woman taking them in with some surprise, and wonders what she was expecting.

"I'm the social worker who will be working with you for now. My name's Tracy Morgan, but you can call me Tracy if you like."

Peter and Susan silently exchange glances. Adults who invite children to call them by their first names? Peter wonders how the world could turn so upside down in just a few decades. They spent the ride in the police car simply staring at the streets. Nothing looked familiar; even the buildings were different styles than they were used to, and the vehicles appeared strange. Even stranger were the flashing light messages and coloured moving pictures that appeared on what looked like posters outside—in full sunlight. He would think 'magic' but he has seen magic. Perhaps it will be safe to ask about them when they know what is going to happen next.

"Now, you're sure there's no one you know that we can call to take care of you?" Tracy asks.

They shake their heads. "No, ma'am," Peter says. "No one is alive anymore." It is a truth he has been facing as he calculated the years that have passed from then to now. It matters little who was older or younger; even the children they played with would be elderly if they still live. The grim reality is that they are adrift in a world they do not know. Adult or not, the feeling of loss swamps him.

Tracy's face reflects sympathy. "That's too bad, love. But we've managed to find a home for you all to stay for a few days, and then we'll see about finding you long-term placements. We may have to split you into pairs, though."

All four instinctively clasp hands; their eyes widen. Peter says what they are all thinking. "Find a home for all four of us, please, ma'am; we stay together." It is more of a demand than he would have dared voice as a child in 1940, but this is one point upon which they must not be budged. The thought of playing child to a set of parents who could be the same age as they are does not appeal; the only company they need is each other. And it will be years while they wait for him to grow up once again… No, this nightmare will only be tolerable if they are going through it together.

Tracy seems taken aback at his quiet insistence. "I'll do the best I can," she says, and bids them follow her to her car.

* * *

The woman at the home where they will stay for now introduces herself as Claire Turner. Her husband is at work but will be home soon, she says, and she invites the children to have a seat at the kitchen table and take a biscuit, if they like.

They glance at each other; none of them is feeling very hungry, and they are not accustomed to snacking. As is becoming habit, the others give their assent for Peter to be the spokesperson with a flicker of their eyes. Since he is the oldest, it will raise fewer eyebrows with the other adults, the ones whose appearance matches their internal reality. "May we just have a glass of water, please?" Peter asks. He can tell that Claire—how hard it is to call her by her first name and yet not act as the adult he really is, Peter thinks—does not expect this request, but quickly agrees. They sip their water as the formalities are concluded and the social worker leaves.

"Tracy said you had nothing with you?" Claire inquires.

"That's correct, ma'am."

"Well, Kenneth should be home soon, and then we can take you to the shops and find you some more things. Until then, do you want to watch some TV?"

"What's that, ma'am?" From the expression on Claire's face as soon as Peter asks the question, he knows that the lack of recognition marks them as strange indeed. He gives her credit, though—she's working very hard to school her expressions of surprise into calm acceptance.

"You've never heard of television before?"

"No, ma'am. What is it?"

Claire doesn't seem to know where to begin with her explanation. "It's a box with moving pictures in it," she finally says.

Susan joins the conversation. "Like going to the pictures at a cinema?"

"Here, let me show you," Claire says, and they follow her into the living room, where a large box-shaped thing sits in a cabinet. She grabs a small black device and presses on part of it as she points it at the box, which suddenly comes to life. She pushes on it some more with her thumb, and the pictures change suddenly, from different sets of people having conversations, to one set that reminds him a little of a film he had seen in his childhood, to views of nature, what looks like a football match, and even a battle scene. It is like and yet unlike any battle he has ever seen, and he is glad when Claire switches it to something else. The image she leaves it on appears like a moving drawing.

"What is it?" Susan asks.

"Oh, this is a cartoon. It's a story with animation—a lot of drawings put together very quickly. Nearly all the children we have stay with us like this one."

Lucy's eyes plead with Peter, and he understands. It's bad enough to pretend to be children, but pretending to like everything that other children do is taking it a bit too far. "Is there anything that is real? Not a story?" he asks. They've traveled through time and space; reality is a story to them now.

"Well, there are documentaries and news shows, but you probably don't want to watch the news. It's nothing but crime and politics these days."

"What are documentaries?" Peter asks. 

"They're programmes designed to inform viewers about a specific topic, such as birds or the Edwardian era."

Susan beats him to the question. "Are there any history ones available?" she asks.

"You want to watch history?" Claire looks at Lucy in particular, probably expecting her to act like the child she appears.

"Oh yes, please!" Lucy exclaims, and Claire blinks.

"Let's see what the programme guide says." She pushes some more buttons and brings up schedules of programmes before settling on one that declares it is about the 1960s.

It is a starting point, Peter decides; they can fill in the gaps later.

* * *

Peter flips the pages of Edmund's maths book, trying to understand the latest lesson. Their foster parents, Jason and Dawn Hamilton, were very nice, but he wasn't ready to reveal just how little maths he knew. He doesn't remember what he studied in school back in 1940, and the little he had to learn in Narnia hardly compare to what is being taught in the modern schools; they certainly didn't deal with metric measurements before. Edmund doesn't find it any easier, but Peter has discovered that if he tries to work on Edmund's maths with him, he generally finds his own a little easier. So far they are managing, but he isn't certain how long that will last.

"Do you think we'll ever go back?" Edmund's voice is quiet; Dawn might be nearby and none of them want to attract any more suspicion than they already have.

"I don't know," Peter says with a sigh. "I hardly remember what it was even like, being a child in 1940."

"Me either. And now that we know what happens…" The discovery of the local library proved far greater a draw to them than any documentary; they have already devoured all of the books on the Second World War and afterwards that are deemed suitable for youth, which help immensely with their history lessons. "I wonder what happened to Narnia," he says after a moment.

"Do you think Aslan has forgotten us?" Edmund's voice drops to a near-whisper.

Peter takes a deep breath and lets it out between his lips, a steady stream of air that trails away to nothing. "No," he says at last. "No, I cannot believe that. I don't know why we are here, or what purpose it may have, but I don't believe he could have forgotten us."

"I think you're right," Edmund says. "But I think if we were going to go back, we would have ended up in 1940 when we tumbled out of the wardrobe. And it's not like we can go back in the wardrobe either." They aren't certain even where it is, now; the trip in the police car wound through too many unfamiliar streets to keep track. "We have to make the best of where we are now. At least we are all together."

Peter agrees with that whole-heartedly; he is thankful every day he wakes up that all four of them were able to stay under the same roof. "All right, I think I understand what they're talking about here," he tells Edmund, and they bend their heads over the lesson.

* * *

Peter steps out of the vehicle, and the others follow him, Susan clutching a bunch of flowers. The cemetery they are at is the result of much research. "May we go alone?" he asks Dawn, who assents. They have to lie about who they are visiting, but they don't think that Jason and Dawn would understand why they are visiting the graves of a couple who died thirty years before.

They make their way to a headstone that says _Arthur & Helen Pevensie_, and Susan lays the flowers in front of it, white carnations for remembrance. They silently hold hands in a semicircle, facing the stone, and Peter speaks after a few minutes. "We'll never know what they knew or didn't know, but they're at peace now."

"And so are we," Susan adds.

"We have each other," Lucy says simply. "As long as we have each other, we'll be fine."

"Right as always, Lu," Peter says, and they squeeze each other's hands before returning to their new life.


End file.
